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the Bronx River Parkway going north and came off at the Fordham Road exit, followed the loop around, crossed the bridge and found the entrance to the park on my right. There I pulled in, killed the engine and the lights, took my phone out of my pocket and settled down to wait.

I waited fifteen minutes. My feet were going numb and I was thinking about getting out of the car to stamp around for a bit when the cab was flooded by light and a large, dark Land Rover pulled in past me. It moved up to the gate, did a three point turn so it was facing me, killed the lights and the engine and waited.

I pressed call on my phone, put it in my pocket and got out of the car. It was dark, but there was enough light from Fordham Road for me to see the driver’s window slide down. Through it I could see a dark gray coat sleeve, but nothing else. I approached a few steps and the same voice I’d heard on the phone said, “That’s close enough.”

“What do you want?”

“I have a message for you, Detective. You and your partner are out of your depth. You need to back off and close this investigation.”

I gave a small, rather humorless laugh. “Get real, pal.”

“It’s you who needs to get real, Stone. There are big interests involved here, you are just a pawn. Now, I am going to do you a favor, and you had better accept it. Am Nielsen killed Dr. Robles. You have his confession. Close the case.”

I shook my head. “First of all, who is this message from? Second, what motive did Am have? Third, where is Agnes Shine? I know for a fact he didn’t kill her.”

He was silent for a moment, like he was thinking about the questions.

“Dr. Robles was going to sell his research, and Am’s, to the LightYear Corporation. Am found out and killed him.”

“How do you know? Who is this message from?”

“Enough questions, Detective.”

“What about Agnes?”

“Agnes Shine is dead.”

“Who killed her?”

“She did. The case is closed, Detective Stone.”

“I need proof.”

“No. You don’t. You have a confession. I told you, you are out of your depth. This no longer concerns the NYPD. Now, take your wife, go to Goa, and close the case. Otherwise you’ll be attending her funeral instead.”

The window slid up, the engine rumbled to life and the big truck pulled out onto Fordham Road, where it disappeared west into the city.

I stood for a moment looking at the amber-washed blacktop, with its sporadic stream of cars. Then I walked back to my Jag and leaned on the roof, thinking. My teeth were beginning to chatter with the cold, but all I could think of was his last words.

A car approaching from the east began to indicate right. It slowed and pulled in beside the Jag. The door opened and Dehan got out, in her woolen hat and gloves.

I smiled at her. “I should have known.”

“The inspector is looking into the LightYear Corporation now. Who was that guy? Did you get his registration?”

“Yeah, but two gets you twenty they were fake, magnetic plates. He tried to imply he was from some kind of government agency. But that was bullshit.”

I put my arms around her and held her for a moment. She gave me a squeeze and I kissed her hat. “Come on, Bombur, let’s get back to the station and have a chat with the chief.”

She looked up at me. “Bombur?”

“Yeah, you know, Bofur’s brother.”

I kissed her nose and climbed in the Jag.

FIFTEEN

We sat in the Deputy Inspector’s office listening to the recording Dehan had made of the conversation. When it had finished, he grunted and leaned back in his chair.

“No longer concerns the NYPD? Out of your depth? And Detective Dehan’s funeral.” He turned to consider me. “Did you recognize him?”

I shook my head. “No, but there aren’t that many people it could be. I can only think of two, and one of those is very unlikely.”

“I agree. Carmen?”

“One thing struck me, sir. The repetition, twice, of the phrase, ‘you have a confession’. We’ve heard that before, very recently. Also, he knew I wanted to go to Goa. We need to think who’s heard me mention that.”

He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Costas. It’s a shame. He’s a good man, but it’s a slippery slope. It starts with what seems to be a harmless lie, and before you know it…”

The silence was more eloquent than any words he could have used. I said, “We can’t prove it was Costas, sir. Did you turn anything up on the LightYear Corporation?”

“Not much so far. Started small in San Francisco. Very aggressive. Expanded quickly. Their thing seems to be launching cutting edge, innovative technology. They have expressed an interest in collaborating with companies like Tesla.”

Dehan shrugged. “But any approach they made to Robles would have been untraceable and a hundred percent deniable by the company.”

I scratched my head. “But let’s assume that it’s true. It is certainly credible. Let’s assume that the LightYear Corporation approach Robles and make him an offer for his research, which as we know, legally, belongs to the university, and which morally belongs partly to Am Nielsen. The first question is, how did Am learn about Robles’ planned sell out? The only people who would know about it would be Robles himself and LightYear.”

Dehan shook her head. “Unless he told Costas? He might have consulted Costas as to the legal implications, trying to cover his back.”

I nodded. “OK, so that means that Costas then informed Am? What purpose could he have for doing that? We still draw a blank there. And here is another blank. What motive has anyone

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